On Solo Socks & Enjoying Every Moment

See this? This is my collection of 37+ single kids’ socks. With each load of laundry, the number of mate-less socks grows. I ask you: how is that even POSSIBLE?!

I once read somewhere that you should keep solo socks only until the next time you do laundry, then toss any remaining singles. But where’s the fun in that? From time to time I actually DO find the mate, and then it’s like Christmas. (I lead a sad, sad life, don’t I?)

I’ve also heard people say you should buy only one kind of sock – say, white tube socks. What are we, barbarians?! Dressing boys is dreary enough without limiting myself to plain white socks. Sometimes finding a cute pair with fire engines on them on sale at Gymboree is the most fun I have at the mall! (I know… sad, sad life.)

You know those people with grown kids who love to tell us moms of wee ones how it all goes so fast? And to enjoy every minute? And to blah, blah, blah until you want to stab them with a plastic Elmo fork? (If any of them are reading this, I meant “I appreciate your words of wisdom.” Now I have to go keep my toddler from stabbing someone with a fork.)

I’d like to turn the tables for a minute. I’d like to speak to all those single people and empty-nesters and even parents of children who are primarily responsible for their own clothing and bodily fluids. I’ll start with laundry.

Remember the days when you used to do maybe 2 loads a week of darks and whites? In my world, those days are OVER. In a typical week I might do a load each of bath towels, kids’ sheets, adults’ sheets, kids’ whites, kids’ darks, kids’ mediums, kids’ pajamas, my own whites and darks, and another load of kids’ bedding.

Because multiple changes of clothes are required daily, thanks to diaper blowouts and mud puddles, and those changes of clothes might occur anywhere, we have approximately 5 dirty clothes hampers throughout the house. And my washer and dryer are conveniently located in the most remote and child-unfriendly corner of the basement. Sitting in a Laundromat reading a book in my single days seems SO much more appealing now.

Next, enjoy the silence. I know everyone says they love the pitter-patter of little feet, and I’ll be the first to admit that a toddler talking to himself while he plays with his trucks is adorable. But do you really miss the escalating shrieks of “Mo’ milk!” and “I had it first!” Do you miss someone screeching “MAAAAMAAAA!!” at 4:30am? Do you miss small children with no concept of “indoor voice” bellowing at you for fruit snacks and Goldfish crackers? I didn’t think so.

Even though I’m dying to, I won’t say anything about getting to go to the bathroom by yourself or shower daily or eat sitting down because that’s such well-trodden territory. (Especially on this blog!) But I WILL say, be grateful for those small moments of alone time you never noticed or appreciated.

For instance, before I had small children I never recognized what a treat it was to be able to answer the phone – even FIND the phone – when it rang. Or to conduct a 4-minute conversation about my electric bill without anyone interrupting me to whine that his brother ran over his toe with a tricycle.

Sometimes I’ll be talking (I mean TRYING to talk) on the phone to my mom, who’s a retired empty-nester now, and she’ll have to go so she can dash off to her third yoga class of the week or her book club or a dinner party or out to a midweek movie with my dad. And I’ll think, “Wow! She doesn’t even have to pack a diaper bag or call a sitter or anything. She can just go! Can you IMAGINE?!” I bet she even ends up with the same number of socks when she does her 2 loads of laundry each week.

NEWS O’ THE WEEK: Register by March 1 for fun, practical, 6-week online nonfiction writing classes with me and/or Writer Mama Christina Katz! I haven’t taught one yet in which at least 1 person didn’t publish an essay they wrote in class. Find out more and sign up here. The price is going up next session so if you’re interested, don’t wait!

What Do Working Out & Writing Have in Common?

As I circled the parking lot at the gym yesterday and then waited in line for a treadmill, this piece I wrote for the Writer Mama e-zine a while back came to mind:

I have been a regular exerciser for years. Don’t hate me; it’s my parents’ fault. As a kid, I passed out water along race routes to my dad and his fellow runners, and did leg lifts alongside my mom and her leg warmer-clad compatriots in aerobics class. Exercise is just something I do, like brushing my teeth. OK, more like flossing—I don’t do it every day, but I aim for three or four times a week.

As a longtime gym member, I’ve started to recognize a pattern: each January, the place is packed. Parking spaces are scarce, and there are long waits for the treadmills. People in shiny, brand-new workout wear are everywhere. Then just as suddenly, around March, the gym empties out again and it’s just us regulars.

I’m not disparaging these would-be workout buffs for falling off the fitness wagon. I’m just noticing that if you approach exercise as “just something you do,” rather than an all-or-nothing oath, you’re more likely to find time for it regularly and stick with it.

Listen: there are plenty of days when it takes all the energy I can muster to drag myself to the gym. Especially if I’ve just spent 10 straight hours with a stubborn toddler who refused to nap so I could finish this column. Those days, I’ll set the recumbent bike to Level 2 and flip through People magazine as I pedal. A challenging workout? Hardly. But I give myself points for showing up. That’s what keeps me coming back to the gym in March, June, September, and even in January, when I can’t find a parking spot.

It’s the same with writing.

I’ve been a writer all my life, too. Writing is just something I do. I don’t broadcast it on bumper stickers or T-shirts. I don’t apologize for the time I spend writing. I don’t need to justify spending money on writing books or classes, or on a babysitter so I can write.

Now, I have been writing for publication for years. Sometimes I even get paid! I realize that if you’re just starting out and not earning much, if any, money for your work, it may be more difficult to convince yourself and others that writing is a worthwhile use of your time.

But it is. Like regular exercisers, writers who stick with it know that the rewards are great. Approach your writing as you would any other important undertaking in your life. Find time for it. Make time for it. Give yourself credit for showing up.

On the days when I write little more than a couple of e-mails and a blog entry, I don’t beat myself up. I’m still flexing my writing muscles, right? And I know that tomorrow I’ll sit down at my desk again and tackle that new assignment or tough revision. That’s because I’m a writer. And so are you. It’s just something we do.

LAST CALL O' THE WEEK: Still a few spots left in my 6-week online writing class, "Personal Essays that Get Published," which starts tomorrow. By the end of the class, you’ll have 2 ready-to-submit essays and a list of potential PAYING markets to send them to. Look at it this way: the class costs $250; I sold my last essay for $200 -- and that’s on the low end of the pay scale.

Former students have published their essays in the New York Times, Southern Living, Chicken Soup for the Soul, A Cup of Comfort, regional parenting mags, websites, and more. Registration closes tomorrow (1/12), so don’t wait!

New Year’s Resolutions for Other People

Happy New Year, people! I’m feeling pressure to write something thoughtful and profound. About the inner wisdom I’ve gained over the past year and my meaningful goals for 2011. But I’ve got nothing. Oh, sure, I’ve got the usual “worry less, read more, eat better” resolutions, but that’s about it. (Last year I was more creative.)

Maybe it’s because I spent the last 4 days at my in-laws’, otherwise known as The Land Where the Kitchen Never Closes and the TV’s Always On. All those home-cooked meals and football games don’t lend themselves to quiet introspection. Not to mention the fact that I spent the entire trip wrestling fragile Christmas decorations out of my toddler’s grip and trying to keep my 4-year-old from strewing his belongings from one end of the house to the other. (Even so, we lost 3 socks, 1 pair of gloves, a couple of action figures, and several pieces of a brand-new Uno game.)

The funny thing is, I can think of plenty of New Year’s resolutions for OTHER people. For instance, my husband might resolve to plan in advance for things. Say, choosing a recipe and making a grocery list before it’s his turn to cook dinner, instead of gazing into the pantry and searching FoodNetwork.com at 5:30pm and hoping the ingredients for a delicious meal magically materialize in the next 20 min.

And my 4 y.o. might resolve to approach the toilet as a specific target instead of a general guideline. My 22 m.o. could resolve to let, say, 4 seconds elapse after demanding his milk before having a tantrum because I didn’t respond fast enough. My whole family could resolve to put things back where they belong so that an hour of every day isn’t spent tearing the house apart to look for someone’s keys or red Crocs.

OK, fine. I guess I have room for improvement, too. I resolve to get less annoyed by the above behaviors, as well as others including asking for a certain type of food and then refusing that same food once it’s prepared. Or announcing on Thursday night that you had no idea the next day was the school picnic, even though it’s been on the calendar for months.

Oops, this is turning back to them, isn’t it? And I was supposed to be discussing how I could improve MYSELF. Hmmm… Well, let me think on that and get back to you. In the meantime, anyone else make any interesting resolutions this year?

LINK O’ THE WEEK: In case you missed it, registration is open NOW for fun, practical, 6-week online non-fiction writing classes with me and/or Writer Mama Christina Katz starting Jan. 12. Find out more and sign up here. Jan. classes usually fill up, so register ASAP so you don’t miss out!

My Favorite Holiday Photos

Did everybody have a good Christmas? I hope so. Ours was very nice, despite the baby coming down with a monster cold and both kids waking us up WAY too early on Christmas morning. (To my surprise, the toddler was the one chomping at the bit to get downstairs, not the 4 y.o.)

But there's no denying that kids make the holidays a lot more fun. We're heading to the in-laws' tomorrow for a few days -- where they're predicting 20 in. of snow tomorrow!! -- so I'll leave you with a few of my favorite shots from Christmas day:

Aw, they DO love each other.

Finally I can do something about that 5 o'clock shadow.

Thomas the Tank Engine was a big hit with Riley, while Miles treated us
to his musical stylings on his new keyboard.

I love how this picture captures my life perfectly: an adult beverage
sitting on a book about underpants.

NEWS O' THE WEEK: Want to get published and paid for writing about your life? Want a fun, practical class that you can take at home on your laptop? Register by Jan. 4 for the next session of my 6-week e-mail class, Personal Essays that Get Published.

Past students have sold their essays to all sorts of web sites, magazines, newspapers and books, including Chicken Soup for the Soul, A Cup of Comfort, and the New York Times. For more info, testimonials, and to sign up, go here. Class size is limited, so register ASAP before it fills up!

An Attitude of Gratitude

Gratitude is a big buzzword these days, isn’t it? Everyone from Oprah to the cashier at the grocery store constantly reminds us to count our blessings. (Usually when your child is having a full-on nuclear meltdown in the checkout line.)

Personally, I think telling people to be grateful works about as well as telling a kid to eat his vegetables.

The way I see it, gratitude is a process. The more you live and the more you experience, the more it dawns on you that you have it pretty good. Often, I realize how lucky I am only by comparing myself to other people. (GASP!! As big a no-no as being ungrateful, some would have you believe. But honestly, who DOESN’T compare themselves to others? How else would you know you look better in those jeans than your coworker?)

Let me give you some examples:

You might not feel lucky to gain 40 lbs., get stretch marks, and have nausea and heartburn for 9 mos. until you meet someone who can’t get pregnant.

You might not feel grateful for suffering through 2 days of labor, a botched epidural, and an episiotomy until you meet someone whose baby was stillborn.

You might not feel lucky to have a newborn who screams all day and all night until you know someone whose infant died of SIDS.

You might not feel grateful when your toddler starts climbing out of his crib and running into coffee tables until you meet someone whose child is developmentally delayed.

You might not feel grateful for your meddling parents and in-laws (not me!) until you meet someone who doesn’t have any parents.

You might not feel too grateful for your tiny, yard-less apartment until you meet someone who’s being eaten alive by their mortgage.

You might not feel grateful for your stressful, thankless job until you meet a mom who can’t afford to work. (That’s right, I said “can’t afford TO work” not “can’t afford NOT to work.” These people do exist, you know.)

Too often, I think gratitude goes hand-in-hand with guilt. We beat ourselves up because we should feel grateful for our healthy kids, our loving spouse, a roof over our heads, etc. And it becomes just another thing to feel bad about, another way we’re not measuring up.

But I find that if you let it, gratitude will sneak up on you when you least expect it. When your children are not fighting for once, say, and are sitting together watching TV. Or when your husband comes home early. Or when it’s a beautiful, sunny fall day and you’re sitting in the preschool pick-up line with the windows open and a good song comes on the radio.

Those are the moments when I think to myself, “This. For this, I am grateful.” No reminders from Oprah necessary.

LINK O’ THE WEEK: “The Prosperous Writer” Christina Katz recently invited writers to share their thoughts about gratitude. Read their responses here.

NEWS O’ THE WEEK: Speaking of Christina Katz, she and I are launching a new session of online writing classes starting Nov. 3! Six lessons in 6 weeks, all via e-mail so you can participate anywhere, anytime. The focus is on getting published, and boy, are our students getting published! In national and regional magazines, alumni publications, web sites, and more.

The deadline to register is Oct. 26, so act now if you want a spot. Class sizes are limited so students can get individual attention and critiques of their writing. Christina’s “Writing & Publishing the Short Stuff” is designed specifically for moms with busy lives.

My first-ever advanced class, “Personal Essays that Get Published: Level 2” is designed for my previous students who want to delve in deeper to this ever-popular genre. Join me! The class is a blast, trust me. :) Go here for more info and to register.

Back-to-School Blues? Not Me!

Am I the only mom alive who’s not sad about her child going off to school? All around me are people who are tearing up at the sight of school buses and lamenting, “They grow up so fast!” Not me. I can’t WAIT until Miles’ first day of school this week. And neither can he.

Maybe it’s because it’s just preschool. This year he’ll be going 5 days a week, but only mornings. How much can I miss him when he’s barely gone long enough for me to do the grocery shopping?

I rarely get wistful when looking at his baby pictures or packing away his outgrown clothes. Maybe it’s because I have another one who’s still in diapers. Or maybe it’s because I really don’t miss the projectile puking, mashed sweet potato phase.

I can honestly say that it doesn’t make me sad to see my sons grow up. I love watching them learn to color and put on their own shoes. I love seeing their personalities develop, and I am fascinated when they exhibit their own individual preferences.

Why did my firstborn adore avocados and my second child won’t touch them? Why is Miles inseparable from his stuffed dog and Riley could care less about blankies or lovies? Why is my oldest unconcerned with his anatomy while I fear my youngest is a budding Pee-Wee Herman?

Most of all, I enjoy my kids’ developing senses of humor and imaginations. Riley has barely been alive a year and a half and he’s already the life of the party, singing and dancing and making faces whenever the mood strikes. And Miles will say the craziest things out of the blue, like “I wish I could walk on the ceiling” or “I don’t want to get old and join the circus.”

One thing that does bother me about the boys going off to school is that I’ll miss so much stuff. Already, it’s like pulling teeth to get Miles to tell me about his day. (Though interestingly, he often opens up to his dad and other people with little prompting. Hmm…) I won’t get to see how excited they are when they know the words to a particular song or figure out how the elevator works on the toy parking garage.

I live for parent-teacher conferences when I get little glimpses into my son’s life beyond me. Otherwise, I may never know that he likes to push a certain little girl on the swings or that his favorite dress-up gear is the dog costume.

It’s just the beginning, I guess. Next year he’ll start kindergarten. Maybe then I’ll get misty at the sight of the backpack display at Gap Kids. But I doubt it. I enjoy watching him grow up too much.

VIDEO O' THE WEEK: They'll kill me for this one day, but I couldn't resist.


NEWS O’ THE WEEK: Speaking of back to school, the next session of my 6-week online writing class, “Personal Essays that Get Published” starts next week! The last class filled up, so sign up ASAP if you want a spot.

The class offers great camaraderie, accountability and best of all, how-to tips on getting published, even if you never have before. Also, it’s a prerequisite for my Level 2 class launching in Nov.

Past students have sold their essays to Chicago Parent, Portland Family, Southern Living, The New York Times, NPR and more. Get more info and sign up here.

Authors Agree: Marriage Is Hard

At various times, certain themes crop up in my life, when it seems like everything I read, hear, or see converges on a particular subject. The current theme is: marriage is hard.

Now, everyone calm down. I’m coming up on my 7th wedding anniversary and I have no plans to pull an “Eat Pray Love” maneuver and ditch my husband to flit around the world for a year. (Though I’d be lying if I said the thought hadn’t crossed my mind a time or 20.)

I mean, really, is it a newsflash to ANYONE that “happily ever after” is harder than it’s made out to be? Especially when you add 2 kids to the mix? Personally, I find it refreshing when people admit that. Which is probably why I enjoyed the following 2 books so much.

The novel Everyone Is Beautiful by Katherine Center follows a young mother of 3, Lanie, who reluctantly uproots her family and moves cross-country for her husband’s job. The descriptions of the pure chaos involved in raising small kids, the dicey playground politics, the challenges of being friends with other moms whose circumstances are vastly different from your own, and the constant grappling between spouses for free time rang SO true to life.

I can’t tell you how many times my husband and I have debated whether work happy hours “count” as leisure time. Just like I can’t tell you how many times people who say parenting may be challenging but not physically grueling change their tune after a couple hours with my kids. Anyway, you should read the book. And also, fellow blogger/writer Angie Mizzell's interview with the author.

On a very different but related note is Laura Munson’s memoir, This Is Not The Story You Think It Is: A Season of Unlikely Happiness. Before I read the book, I read about this author’s long road to publication and found it hugely inspiring. Then I sought out her NYT “Modern Love” essay that the book is based on. (Especially interesting to me, since one of my students recently had an essay she developed in my online writing class published in Modern Love.) Then I bought the book.

Here’s the gist: what happens when your beloved husband of 15 years comes home one day and says, “I don’t love you anymore. I’m not sure I ever did”? I’m willing to bet 99% of us wouldn’t respond the way Munson did: “I don’t buy it.”

Even while reeling from shock and pain, she was able to recognize that this was more about him having a job-related midlife crisis than it was about her. The book covers the following year of Munson’s life as she turns to therapy, writing, mothering, cooking, friends, and nature to help her through this difficult time.

Like Center’s novel, it shows that even “good” marriages don’t guarantee happiness and personal fulfillment. Both books also explore what happens when women pursue their own passions. Honest, eye-opening, gut-wrenching, and yet also beautiful and even funny at times, Munson’s book was hard to put down.

Yep, marriage is hard, all right. Good thing there are writers out there willing to address the subject in such honest and uplifting stories.

LAUGH O’ THE WEEK: Two things you don’t want to hear on a long family roadtrip: 1) "Do you smell throw-up?" 2) "Or is that poop?" Answer: Both.

I tackled one kid while my husband handled the other. If that’s not true love, I don’t know what is.

Confessions of a Belated Writing Instructor

I was raised by 2 teachers. As far back as I can remember, my parents spent their evenings grading papers and had summers off. Like many children, however, I had zero interest in following in my parents’ footsteps. I wanted a corporate job in a big city. Skyscrapers, suits, business trips -- bring it on! It sounded so glamorous and important. I set my sights on publishing or advertising.

My first hint that maybe corporate life wasn’t so glamorous was a stint at a glossy NYC magazine in college. Then, the only job I could get after graduation was an unpaid internship at a regional magazine, which I supplemented with a job answering phones. So much for summers off.

I eventually worked up to a series of paying jobs at various magazines, communications depts., and internet companies. At the “height” of my career (I use the term loosely) I was making more money than I ever had and writing next to nothing. I wanted to jump off a bridge.

I became a freelance writer instead. Fast forward to a couple months after I had my first baby, when I was desperate to regain some semblance of my former professional, adult self. I found an online writing class that sounded perfect: “Writing and Publishing the Short Stuff: Especially for Moms.”

I was wowed. First, by the caliber of the instructor, Christina Katz. (You may know her as author of "Writer Mama," @thewritermama, or The Prosperous Writer.) She wasn’t a top editor at a big-name magazine like some of the instructors I’d had. She wasn’t affiliated with an Ivy League university. But boy, did she know her stuff. Her approach was positive and practical, a far cry from the snarky, “good-luck-you’ll-need-it” tone of many resources geared toward aspiring writers.

Christina was better, in fact, than some of my professors in a graduate program in publishing I’d completed years earlier. I’ll never forget what my thesis advisor said to me when, despite my top grades, I was having trouble finding a job: “Sorry, but I can’t really help you with that. I’ve never worked in publishing.”

Anyway, Christina and I hit it off and she asked me to be her teaching assistant for the next class. Eventually, she offered me my own class. Me? TEACH?! Remember my childhood vow to not follow my parents’ path? Except...

The idea was kind of appealing. I DID enjoy helping people improve their writing, and I HAD spent years and years studying and working in the publishing business. Since the classes were taught via e-mail, I could even fit them into my busy life as a mom. I decided to give teaching a shot.

Two years and 7 classes later, I can’t believe I didn’t start sooner. I have met some fascinating people and helped dozens of writers polish their work, gain confidence, and send their words out into the world.

And guess what? They’re getting published left and right! In regional parenting magazines, on web sites, in prestigious places like the Erma Bombeck Humor Writing Contest, Southern Living, the New York Times, and NPR!

So it turns out maybe teaching IS in my blood. I’ve accepted it. I embrace it. And I don’t even mind grading papers.

NEWS O’ THE WEEK: Due to popular demand, I am developing a Level 2 essay class that will launch in Nov. I am devoting nights, weekends, and naptimes to designing a course that delves deeper into how to write great personal essays and get them published.

In the meantime, registration is open for my intro class, “Personal Essays that Get Published,” which starts Sept. 8. (BTW, it’s a prerequisite for the Level 2 class.) For more info, student testimonials, and to sign up, go here.

'Bitch Face' and the Road to Happiness

I occasionally suffer from a condition commonly known as “bitch face.” It’s involuntary, and I’m usually not even aware of it. It’s plagued me throughout my life, however.

People have often told me that before they knew me they thought I was stuck up, unfriendly, and/or unhappy. When I was single, a favorite pick-up line of guys in bars was, “Smile!” or “Cheer up!” (Shockingly, this line was ineffective and only made me want to punch the guy out.)

In fact, my self-consciousness and shyness were a big part of the problem. Most of the people I know who go around smiling all the time are pretty confident, outgoing types. Me? I’m a writer and blogger who doesn’t even use her real name or photo here. Draw your own conclusions.

I’ve learned a lot in my almost 36 years of life, though. Most lessons I have to learn over and over before they “stick,” BTW. But one of those is, if you smile people are nicer to you. And if people are nicer to you, you feel better about yourself. And if you feel better about yourself, you’re a happier person. Is that profound or what?

Fortunately, I smile a lot more these days. Mostly because I have 2 adorable kids I love more than anything. I dare you not to smile when you see tiny jean-clad butt or a miniature pair of rain boots. Or a round little Buddha belly or a peanut-butter-smeared, dimpled face. Go on, I DARE YOU.

Another lesson I’ve learned about happiness? It’s a choice. When I was younger, I used to think that circumstances determined a person’s happiness. If only I had a job I liked, I’d be happy. If only I had a boyfriend, I’d be happy. If I only I had a better body, nicer apartment, more friends, a bigger paycheck … you get the picture. Is it any wonder I was often miserable?

Becoming a freelance writer actually made things worse for a while. I gave up a high-paying job to sit in solitude in front of my computer all day, sending out queries and getting back rejections -- or worse, nothing but silence. I joined a writers’ group and soaked up the anxiety and negativity of the most vocal members. Every acceptance made my heart soar, every rejection stung like a slap in the face.

To be honest, it was a relief when I got married and then pregnant with my first child. I could focus on something else for a while. I eventually went back to writing, but things were different. First of all, I welcomed what little solitude I could find. Second, I connected with other writers online and started writing again for pleasure by starting a blog.

I did less pitching and got more work through networking and referrals, including some of my biggest career successes to date. And the highs and lows evened out because I no longer had my ego and self-worth all tied up with my profession. I had one, and now 2 little boys to remind me of what’s really important.

It kind of sneaked up on me, but I have realized I am finally happy. Sure, I still have struggles and disappointments, but deep down I am content and at peace with my life. And that’s enough to make anyone smile.

SHOUT OUT: To my fellow writer Christina Katz, the original Writer Mama, The Prosperous Writer, and the inspiration for this post. I'm fairly certain she never has bitch face. When I took her class 2 mos. after becoming a new mom, I never dreamed it would set me on the path I’m on today. Thanks, dear!

You, too, can take her class, Writing & Publishing the Short Stuff, or my class, Personal Essays that Get Published, both starting May 12. You'll be glad you did!

Personal Space

Stop the presses: C. and I went out to a movie the other night. I KNOW!! In the theatre and everything! We go to the movies so rarely that we barely recognized a single Oscar nominee. This is because a) movies either start too early or too late for us (gotta get the kids fed but can’t stay awake past 11 pm) or b) we can’t agree on one.

But we both wanted to see “Date Night” with Tina Fey and Steve Carell, and we arranged for a kind and generous neighbor to come over after the baby was in bed. I highly suggest trading childcare with a friend if you can swing it. Because there’s nothing I hate more than paying a sitter to sit and watch TV after all the hard work is done!

I really enjoyed the movie. It was exactly what I look for in date-night entertainment. I hate how the trailers give away most of the movie these days, but there were still some surprises. One of the funniest parts to me was when T.Fey’s character, a harried working mom, reveals her “fantasy” -- eating lunch by herself in a quiet room. Every mother I know can relate to that!

That’s one of the biggest adjustments to becoming a mom, I think. All of a sudden you are never, ever alone anymore. Not even in the bathroom. If you work, commute, or have a sitter, you might get a few solo moments in your day, but mostly likely you spend that time trying to “get stuff done” -- phone calls, errands, basic personal hygiene. (BTW, I have seen a woman flossing her teeth at 55 mph.)

My husband and I have an ongoing argument about his 2-hour daily commute. On the one hand, I know from experience that stressful rush-hour traffic is no picnic, but on the other hand? How awesome would it be to sit in a quiet, air-conditioned place drinking your coffee and listening to whatever you want on the stereo without complaint from the peanut gallery in the backseat?

A few months after C. and I first started dating, he moved an hour away for a job. Shortly after, I lost my job and moved to the same city. Lots of people thought it would have made sense for us to move in together. Nope, not for me. First of all, I wasn’t sure about this guy yet. And second of all, I was finally making enough money to not have roommates. Damn straight I was looking forward to that!

The funny part is I ended up renting an apartment directly downstairs from C. I was something like Apt. #526 and he was #527. In the evenings after work we’d usually eat dinner together and hang out. But then if I wanted to go to bed early or he wanted to watch some game I wasn’t interested in, I’d go back downstairs. I didn’t even have to put shoes on. It was awesome. It was like all the benefits of living together without the hassles of someone else’s dirty dishes in the sink or having to split the phone bill.

So, yeah. I sometimes miss having my own personal space. But every now and then I get an unexpected gift -- like today, when both boys are napping at the same time (!!) and I have a few quiet moments to myself. And I enjoy it all the more because these moments are as rare as a free babysitter.

NEWS O’ THE WEEK: The next session of my 6-week online writing class, “Personal Essays that Get Published” starts in 2 weeks! There are still some spaces left. The class offers great camaraderie, accountability and best of all, how-to tips on getting published, even if you never have before. Past students have sold their essays to Chicago Parent, Southern Living, The New York Times and more. Get more info and sign up here.

12 Ironies of Motherhood

1. Just when you figure out something your picky child will eat, he’ll decide he doesn’t like it anymore. “I don’t like chicken nuggets and mustard now, Mama!” Good thing I just bought them IN BULK at Costco!!

2. For once you make it to school on time -- and then you realize it’s a holiday.

3. The one time you leave your cell phone in the car while you go to the gym is the one time your sitter was frantically trying to get a hold of you because you left her a bottle for the baby but no nipple.

4. The baby FINALLY sleeps through the night -- but only because he has a fever.

5. Your child quietly entertains himself for a whole half-hour. Because he was busy drawing all over the furniture in the next room.

6. You get caught up on all your thank-you notes -- before realizing you forgot to address them before you sealed the envelopes.

7. At last, your toddler has started going #2 on the potty by himself! Too bad he pulls up his pants before telling you he needs to be wiped.

8. You manage to get both kids to take a nap at the same time -- but not on the same day.

9. In a rare fit of productivity, you make dinner from scratch. Then you burn the bajeezus out of it because you forgot to turn the stove off while you gave the baby a bath.

10. After months of trying, you and that super-busy mom finally schedule a playdate for your kids. Then someone contracts an infectious disease the day before.

11. You get everybody’s sheets washed, dried, and put back on their beds. The very next day, someone has a diaper blowout, throws up, or spills a juice box all over their bed -- or yours.*

*BTW, does anyone else get bloody knuckles from changing crib sheets? Do they really need to make those things so freaking tight??

12. You can't wait for your little shadow to be more independent. Then comes the day when he slams the door in your face because he “needs privacy” and he skips off to preschool without a backward glance.

NEWS O’ THE WEEK: The next session of my 6-week online writing class, “Personal Essays that Get Published” starts in a week! There’s still room for last-minute sign-ups. The class offers great camaraderie, accountability & best of all, how-to tips on getting published, even if you never have before. Past students have sold their essays to Chicago Parent, Southern Living, The New York Times & more. Get more info & sign up here.

Looks Like We Made It

Well, we made it. It wasn't pretty, but we made it. Before I get into the nitty gritty details of our trip, here's a list of suggested items to pack if you're considering traveling solo with kids:

- A change of clothes for everyone who will be within a 3-ft. radius of the baby
- 3-4 extra pairs of hands
- Thumbtacks to put on the seat of anyone who watches you struggling by yourself with 2 kids and doesn't lift a finger to help

Also, build in at least 2 extra hours before you have to catch your flight. This will allow for "hypothetical" situations, like the baby having a massive diaper blowout just before you get on the plane.

C. helped us carry our 2 tons of luggage into the airport and watched us go through security. They wouldn't let him go any farther. From behind the rope, he witnessed this: Me holding the boarding passes in my teeth while I tried to fold up the stroller and put it on the conveyor belt along with Miles' massive backback and my even more massive diaper bag, while simultaneously trying to remove my shoes and my son's shoes.

While this was happening, Riley, who was in his carseat on the floor but not buckled in, began to roll out onto the floor. Meanwhile, the impatient woman behind me in line did nothing to help except to push my stuff farther down the conveyor belt.

On the other side, however, a very nice pilot helped me unfold the stroller, clicked the carseat onto it -- the right way! -- and helped Miles put his backpack on. I would have kissed him if my husband wasn't watching.

By this time, we had missed boarding for not only the A group, but most of the B group as well. I was sweating and parched and without snacks of any kind, thinking I'd have plenty of time to buy refreshments before we got on the plane. Wrong. Also, I forgot to put a Pull-Up on Miles. Oy.

So we struggled onto the plane and sat almost all the way in the back next to another very nice Southwest pilot. (Not the one flying the plane, obviously.) I apologized in advance, but he smiled and said he had 2 boys of his own and asked if I needed any help. I barely refrained from weeping at his feet in gratitude.

Throughout the (thankfully) short flight, Miles entertained himself with a coloring book, bags of pretzels and peanuts, and looking out the window. That kid's a champ, I tell you. Everyone cracked up when the plane took off and he shouted, "WHEEEE!!! Blast-off!! This is FUN!" The lady in front of us turned around laughing and said, "That's what we're all thinking."

Riley, on the other hand... I'm sorry to say the friendly pilot may have taken a few kicks to the kidney, gotten his pant leg splattered with spit-up and probably saw more of my boobs than he wanted to. Also, the nap he tried to take? Didn't happen. Sorry, Mr. Pilot!

Even so, when we landed, people around us smiled and one even said, "The kids did great." Obviously they didn't notice the chunks of hair missing from my head where the baby ripped them out, or the enormous pile of pretzel crumbs on Miles' seat. Oh, well. Like I said, we made it.

Our stroller, however, did not. So much for gate checking. We spent an extra hour or so milling around baggage claim dealing with that while Miles tried to surf on the baggage conveyor belt thingy. The stroller was finally delivered to my parents' house at midnight.

Anyway, we're glad we came. We've been to the beach twice, and I can't overstate how wonderful it is to have someone else preparing meals for us. There's a special place in heaven for helpful grandparents. Now, if they could just do something about my kids' ungodly early wake-up time.

NEWS O' THE WEEK: Hurry, hurry, before it fills up: The next session of my online writing class, Personal Essays That Get Published, starts Oct. 6! Success stories from former students have been flooding in. They're getting published in Southern Living, Chicago Parent, Portland Family, even the New York Times. You go, students!! Get more info and sign up here.

Call Me, HGTV!

I’m a bit of an HGTV junkie. I love to watch home design and makeover shows. Not that I have the time, funds, or skills to take on projects in my own home, mind you. (Although I think I deserve some props for my monogrammed upholstered headboard!) I think I just like looking at clean, attractive spaces. Because they are so rare in our house.

One of my favorite shows is “Find Your Style,” where sassy redhead designer Karen McAloon comes to a couple’s house, walks around, and then tells them what their style of interior design is. Mine would be on the opposite end of the spectrum from minimalist. And it’s not exactly contemporary or country or traditional, either. It’s more like maximum clutter and multicolored plastic. Is there a “bomb went off” school of design? ‘Cause that’s us.

It’s not my fault, people. I’m not the neatest person in the world, but I have an appreciation of feng shui and good design. I feel better in a comfortable, uncluttered environment. Too bad my toddler’s running the show around here. His motto seems to be, “Every surface must be covered with everything I own at all times.” Or perhaps, “The more stuff, the better.” There is barely room in his bed for him, because he sleeps with about 14 assorted blankets, stuffed animals, and pillows.

I tell you, these darn kids are sabotaging my efforts to make my house NOT look like the aftermath of a natural disaster. Who doesn’t love a good “before & after”? Here are some from my house.

The coffee table before Miles:














The coffee table after Miles:














The kitchen table before Miles:














The kitchen table after Miles:














Sometimes I wonder why I bother. Some weeks I just give up and let the clutter consume us. Then it gets so I can’t stand it anymore and I clean up again. Only to have my bright, uncluttered space accessorized again with Spiderman and Mr. Potato Head. I wonder what Karen McAloon would say if she saw that?

LINK O’ THE WEEK: Hey, look, Karen has a MySpace page! It says she has a son, so maybe she DOES know where I’m coming from!

LAUGH O’ THE WEEK: I was saying goodnight to Miles and he stood up on his bed and said, “Night, Mom. Pea soup.” Huh? Then he held up 2 fingers in a V and repeated, “Pea soup!” Ohhhhh, OK. That would be “peace out.”

WRITING NEWS: Want to write a book? Want to teach others about your specialty? Writer Mama Christina Katz shows you how to Craft a Book Proposal and Turn Your Specialty Into Course Curriculum. Find out more about her classes here. Hurry, they start May 6!

Schooled By My Students

It’s a thrill to watch my kids learn and grow and master new skills. But since they are only 2.5 and 1 mo. old, those skills are along the lines of learning to ride a scooter and finding their own foot. I get a different kind of thrill from seeing my writing students succeed. And boy, do they! One just got published in the New York Times! Go, M.G.!!

There’s little that’s more gratifying than helping a writer develop her talent and confidence so she can go out into the harsh world of publishing and not only survive, but thrive. You all read/saw “The Devil Wears Prada,” right? Editors can be scary!! (Not mine, of course, should they happen to be reading. Mine are all gentle and decent people with normal-sized egos, I swear!)

I’ve come to realize that I often learn as much from my students as they learn from me. For instance, one person wrote about the struggle to potty train her son. Boy, can I relate! Reading that made me realize I’m not the only one who risks frittering away her retirement fund on Pull-Ups. (I refuse to buy them in bulk. I’m in denial. I keep thinking, “This will be the LAST pack!”) Another thoughtful essay detailed the writer’s difficult adjustment to being a stay-at-home mom. Again, I can relate!

Another essay that sticks with me is about a mom’s coming to terms with her different relationship with each of her sons. She described her first baby as cheerful and charming, while her second was solemn and reserved. She worried she was a bad mother for comparing them, and feared her first-born would always be her favorite. Ultimately, she realized she loves both boys equally, but differently. I totally get this now!

Somewhat embarrassingly, I burst into tears at the pediatrician’s office the other day, partly due to guilt over this issue. It had been a horrible morning, trying to get 2 kids to 2 different doctors’ appointments on opposite sides of town. One involved pinning my screaming 2-y.o.’s arms to his sides while forcing him to breathe asthma medication through a nebulizer. The other required pinning down my screaming newborn while he got a Hepatitis B shot.

So, anyway, our pediatrician is so nice and warm and caring. I wailed about how Miles had never been like this baby, who does nothing but cry and spit up and insist on being held 24/7. I said I felt bad for Miles and bad about myself for feeling frustrated with Riley. And you know what the doctor said? That this is completely normal.

After all, she pointed out, I have a bond with Miles. He’s been my main man for almost 3 years now. (My main man in diapers, that is.) And newborns don’t give a lot back, as needy as they are. It’s all “feed me, burp me, change me, rock me” with not even a smile in return. Admit it: if you were dating your baby, you’d dump him so fast it’d make his head spin.

The doctor also said that Miles was an unusual baby and that Riley is what most babies are like. Oh, really? That means my little handful of a first-born was actually our EASY baby, in retrospect! I don’t know if this makes me feel better or worse. The doctor also said Riley would probably outgrow some of his issues in a few months. And you know what? The other night he actually slept 4.5 hours in a row. And I swear he smiled this morning. A light at the end of the tunnel!

Besides, as my SIL made me realize the other day, it’s a little early to brand Riley the black sheep of the family and start dressing him in “Bad to the Bone” onesies. He’s only a month old, for Pete’s sake!!

Anyway … thanks, students, for teaching me while I teach you. Keep those success stories coming. Now stop reading this blog and go write something!

READS O’ THE WEEK: Famed mom blogger Dooce has a new book out. And here’s another one that’s on my wish list: Sleep Is for the Weak: The Best of the Mommybloggers Including Amalah, Finslippy, Fussy, Woulda Coulda Shoulda, Mom-101, and More!

Baby Name Blues

So am I the only one obsessively Googling Jennifer Garner and Ben Affleck to see if they’ve FINALLY named their new baby girl? I am? (Blush.) Well, what do you expect, I’m in the throes of a baby-name quandary myself right now!

To catch you up, I’m due in less than 2 mos. with Baby #2. Even though I am generally a fan of being surprised in the delivery room, we decided to find out the sex this time because my 2-year-old son, Miles, was going around announcing to everyone that he was getting a new baby brother.

Wanting to manage his expectations and make the transition from only child to sibling the least traumatic possible, we found out what we’re expecting. Turns out, Miles was right: it’s another boy! (Although doctors will tell you they can’t be 100% certain from a sonogram. Either way, we’re safe; the nursery’s green.)

For some reason, Miles has been calling this baby “Henry” from Day 1. I’m not sure why. It probably has something to do with Thomas the Tank Engine. (Henry’s the green one, right? Or is that Percy?) Thank goodness he didn’t latch onto “Fergus.” And while lots of people have said they like the name Henry, the baby’s father doesn’t happen to be one of them.

Last time, I believe Miles was the only name C. and I could agree on. So it’s not like we could go to choice #2 this time around. When I tell people we can’t decide on a name, they think I’m just being secretive. “Oh, come on! Just tell us! What are the choices?” they chide us. Um, that would imply that we’ve narrowed it down to 2 or 3. People, believe me when I tell you I’m still going through the baby name book from cover to cover several times a week.

So what’s the problem? I’d like to place the blame squarely on my husband and his Irish surname. It narrows the field considerably. And while I like a good Irish name as much as the next lass, I can’t see calling my bundle of joy Seamus or Declan. Sorry, I just can’t.

Every name I like, C. hates. His reasons range from “The class bully in the 3rd grade was named that” to “It sounds like an ‘80s pop star.” Alrighty then. And every name he likes, I don’t. For fear of offending anyone (that is, beyond the Ferguses and Seamuses and Declans out there) I won’t reveal the names I’ve rejected. It’s just that if I can’t picture myself calling out that name a million times on the playground, and if it doesn’t suit a baby in diapers as well as a teenager and a grown man, I can’t get behind it.

So we’re stuck. It might come down to a poll or coin flip in the delivery room. Lucky for us, we’re not celebrities, so we don’t have to deal with silly baby-name suggestions from the media, nor will we be publicly ridiculed if we choose to name our child Bronx Mowgli or Charlie Tamara Tulip.

You know, Henry is starting to sound better and better...

LINKS O’ THE WEEK: I had some fun with the Sarah Palin Baby Name Generator. I’d be “Engine Nighthawk Palin.” And this Baby Name Genie features a genie with an attitude. He gets ornery if you keep asking for more names.

PLEA O’ THE WEEK: If you or anyone you know wants to see your name in lights--er, that is, your byline in print--you have just 2 days left to sign up for my online writing class, Personal Essays that Get Published! I’ll share my insider secrets on how I got published in such national magazines as American Baby, Bride’s, and Health. I can tell you, it pays better than blogging!